Beta: ST 59 60 61 62
by Temp Name 001045
Summary: Beta Reading
1. 59

When your little crew nears the apartments, Sans stops you all and has everyone enter the alley just behind your building. To avoid the cameras in the lobby, he says, he'll take Undyne in through a shortcut.

You. don't get what he means, but, its probably a good idea, right?

So you and Papyrus part with them from the alley, and you shoot a last glance over your shoulder to Sans and Undyne standing face to face- or. Facing each other face to, uh, waist. Sans is pretty short.

Papyrus leads you back to the front of the building by the hand, smiling wide. You like that.

"Real happy, eh, paps?" you can't deny you sound… _spaced_. Softer. Than normal.

His grin turns down to you as he clicks the button for the elevator. "OF COURSE! Human, this is-! I did not think thinks could get so much better, you understand?"

"ah… not really."

"well, human, not so long ago it feels, I wouldn't have imagined where we'd be! A marvelous new human friend, my best friend and captain, and my brother, all safe in a home! And the marvelous Papyrus has two great new hobbies, and hopefully a new job soon, too!"

You chuckle. "I envy your optimism." A thought occurs. "Uh… hey. Can I ask ya something?"

A loud ding and the called elevator slides open. Papyrus pulls you in by the hand with a curious look. "Of course, my human friend!" he hits the usual button.

"just uh- where were you? before the auction?" you shrug. "you don't have to answer. Just… curious? Or."

"Sounds more like _concern_ , my dearest human, than curiosity."

You look up at him, surprised at the accusation.

He looks- honestly, amused.

"The great Papyrus has been at a lot of places… theres not much in particular. I worked with our friend Grillby at a Human Circus for a little while! Oh, and for a while the great Papyrus worked at an amusement park! The humans found Papyrus _so amazing_ , I was on the display! And the great Papyrus helped in an Italian kitchen! My food was so amazing they couldn't afford to keep me! and I helped an old man in his tree-cutting business!"

…you feel bad. Sounds kind of like paps has been around from the Local Freakshow to hard labor.

He seems. Happy, though? like he enjoyed the experiences. And knowing Papyrus, being marveled at, and getting to work in a kitchen and cook… you think he probably _did_ enjoy it.

You scratch the back of your head with your free hand, and shoot a glance at him before studying the tiled floor of the elevator.

"I have not had it as bad as my brother, if that's what you mean to ask."

Papyrus' grip tightens a little around your hand- out of instinct you jerk out of his grip, and the both of you freeze up.

The elevator dings once again, and opens. Quietly, you both step off.

"Sorry."

"Don't be." Papyrus sounds tired.

"You sound more concerned than I do, pap."

"Perhaps I am, human. Perhaps."

Though you've both stepped off the elevator, neither of you has made the first step to head to the room by the time the elevator door closes.

"so do you know how bad, exactly, he's had it, then?"

"are you asking if I can tell or if I know what he's actually had?"

You hum. "I can't imagine you can't tell, paps."

When you spare another look up at him, he looks tired. Perhaps a little… upset.

"Sans does not talk about such things. I don't know the details. I just know it isn't good. I could make guesses." Hes quiet a while, and you think he might tell you some guesses he has, but he never does.

"No guesses I think I'd like." You joke. You run your hand through your hair. It catches a knot and you pull some strands loose, but barely notice. It doesn't hurt much.

"I cant imagine you'd have any id like either." is the answer you get.

You're quiet a moment, too, before finally attempting a question you've been trying to word. you still don't really know how you're going to word it until you're mouths already blurted it out. "So you haven't had any-"

As expcted, the word owners dies in your throat.

He fills it in for you. "So I haven't had any owners as bad as whatever Sans has had?" at your nod, he makes a low sound of thought somewhere in the back of a throat he doesn't actually have.

"No. No owners like that. The circus was not nice people, but they were closely monitored while we were there. The early time. I imagine we- us monsters, and the animals- would have been treated worse without the government scrutiny. The lions and tigers has too many scars from before there were humans in suits to watch the circus folk. The great Papyrus was gone before those early things faded away. mostly just labor. I'm okay."

He's holding his arm in a certain manner. A manner you don't question because, briefly, you'd seen the crack there before. You didn't know what it was- could just be a natural thing. Or a childhood injury. The way he holds the spot, you don't doubt its an injury from a previous owner.

You- want to offer him something. A hug or maybe a pat on the back or some sort of comfort, but your body can will itself to do so. Nor do you have the verbal aptitude to say something worth saying.

What's something you'd have wanted someone to say to you about your mother?

The answer to that is nothing. You didn't want anyone to say anything about that. About those days and the things that happened. About anything she didafter or still does. There was nothing _to_ say. Nothing can change what happened and as much as anything that happened was bad, any of the pain, you don't know what would be if it were different. Cant imagine it changing. There nothing someone can say to something like that. Nothing but rehearsed words of pitty from strangers or awkward things from guilty siblings or your mothers frustrated denials, or in the beginning when she still apologized after you stopped… living with her. You dont think theres anything you'd like to hear from anyone about it.

Maybe that's not the same thing Papyrus experienced, not that you know what he experienced, but. Theres probably nothing you can say. Nothing anyone could.

You roll your shoulders back and sigh. "they'll start worrying where we are if we're much longer, paps."

"right!" the tiredness evaporates from visibility. he offers you a cheerful hand to hold.

You wince at it but he takes his hand back without even word or an expression.

"well, come on then, Human! We have a new roommate or possibly just a guest at home! We must be good hosts!"

You let Papyrus' attempts for optimisim, be them as real as he'd most likely want you to think or maybe a bit less real then you once thought, but none the less, you let yourself fall into his optimism and hope it'll easeyour lack there of.

He's right.

You'vea guest and you have to be a good host.


	2. 60

You and Papyrus enter your apartment with a loud slam as Papyrus throws open your door, and you carefully close it and lock it. You double check its locked while Papyrus begins chastising Sans in his slightly-louder inside voice, and triple check as you observe Undyne hunched on the couch.

Seems she did not take well to that shortcut Sans plays around with. That little skeleton bastard just seems amused. Repeatedly he assures Papyrus that Undyne is fine. Only dizzy from a first time, and Undyne scowls at him with her one bright eye.

You hover near the doorway, uncertain if you should cut in. maybe its your house, but it feels wrong to get in the way.

You have things to do, but you… aren't sure how to get it done.

Undyne needs a shower, both to warm her up and out of a concern about how dry a fish woman should get, but you don't know how to imply or offer it without seeming accusative that shes dirty. You should make dinner but, you don't know if you have… enough food in the fridge… to feed all four people in this house now. Or enough cash in the house to get enough food right now. And your sure Undyne is still hungry, too. You should probably look up Undyne herself just to see what your getting into, how much local authorities know that shes even in your area, if theyre looking for her in the city. You… probably should even figure out… how she escaped the kill switch on her collar, but you cant fucking imagine asking her about that, nor getting caught researching her. You should probably put together the second room, too, but then again she made a point saying she might not be staying, would the insinuation be insulting?

You don't even have a mattress for the second room, either, just the one in the skeleton brother's bedroom that sits on the floor under the window. Do you have sheets or a blanket, anyway?

You slip down the hallway, vaguely listening to Undyne (jokingly, you think) complain at Sans about the 'fucking shortcut'. Unlocking your room with your key you move in and check the top of your closet and… no blankets. Only the throw blanket, then, to spare for her. Then again its usually in use- whoever tanks it on the couch uses it, and its thin. Too thin, maybe, for a cold blooded monster woman- maybe even too cold for a warm blooded human like yourself, givin its winter and getting colder by the night. Pillows- you don't have any extras of those, either.

You look to your bed.

Your blanket, freshly laundered this morning by a bored Papyrus, is still waiting there folded with a clean pillowcase. You dress the pillow with it, set it on the stack, and meander back down the hall.

Its just as rowdy as when ya left them a minute ago, and move up to the empty spot on the couch- acutely aware of Undyne on your immediate left. She, of course, is just as aware of you, as you settle the pillow and blanket down.

Since shes _staring_ , you take the opportunity. "Theres a second room, but no bed in there. Couch would probably be more comfortable- and I think its warmer in here through the night, since theres more heat vents."

No one responds to you. Not Undyne, or either of the brothers who shushed to listen.

"-right." You sigh, feeling worn down- _to the bone,_ hah- and start toward the kitchen. "we don't have a lot of food in the house right now- and, I just started a new job, and I'm not completely clear on when the first paycheck is yet- I think its… biweekly, but until I get it, I don't have access to much more food yet."

"DON'T WORRY, HUMAN! My garden will produce us much food, here soon!"

You look around the house and take in… Papyrus' crop of plants. Most of the have been tucked away to window sils, based on which ones need more light, but you don't have enough windows for… everything. The coffee table is still covered in seed packs and new gardening tools, some herb plants line the kitchen counters (you know those will probably need to get some sort of artificial light source to survive there, not that you can afford that.), and the baby lemon tree and other fruit trees and plants which will one day… be /way/ too big are scattered across the bar counter and sitting around the living room in places you guess Papyrus thought looked nice.

"i… don't think you'll be harvesting much soon, pap." You pull a tag on something that turns out to be a chili pepper plant. "…most of your plants are still, uh… babies. And not everything here is in season. Like… your tomatoes and your peppers, I- I'm pretty sure those don't grow food til summer, and your trees wont grow anything til their bigger…"

Papyrus deflates, but quickly stands taller. "NOT TO WORRY! The great Papyrus' second new hobby will save the day sooner! I have been following these interesting Couponing Documentary Shows! We can buy out half a store for 6 cents!"

You don't have the heart that people on those shows… have to spend most of their weeks getting and organizing and planning a single shopping trip. And one expired coupon throws the whole thing off. and the stores hate and fight the people who try and do that. And most of the places in your town aren't big name supermarkets that o coupons on that scale.

"…thanks, pap. I'm sure you make us proud." You turn back to inspecting the frige as he wops excitedly and immediately leaps into telling Undyne about those New Hobbies he's started. You wince, hard, when he starts bragging that you bought all the plants for him.

"kid."

That fucking _asshole_ just appearing beside you—you have half a mind to slam the fucking fridge door in his face, fuck—

"If it's that strapped, I can-"

"You can't steal food if that's what your going to ask."

He doesn't respond as you scan the open fridge. You don't have much- not even condiments, what with Sans living here.

"You gunna leave tonight? To be doin whatever you do to come back with a handful of cash?"

You close the fridge and check the cabinet with cans. You have some canned shit, but that's mostly the Final Stock Pile. Nonperishable cans you've been storing up. "I'll do what I have to, Sans." Looks like its down to this. Down to… that.

"You know." He starts lowly, keeping his voice down. "First night I came back with you, I remember a big picture on that wall. And a bracelet you used to wear sometimes. And a newer looking blender on the counter. And a few things that used to hand in the hall way- a clock in the office, too. And you used to have a purple case on your phone." He pauses again. "I've seen a lot of them end up in that thrift store you like to shop at."

"Perceptive." You sigh. Too bad you're out of things to pawn.

He mirrors your thought out loud- "of course, nothing else seems to have sold in quite a while. You still went out quite a lot at night. What else happens at night?"

"Really?" you pull out little cans of Tuna. Undyne would eat that, right? "You really want to pick now to try and confront me on what happens at _night_ , knowing I don't have much of a choice in doing whatever I'm doing right now, Sans?"

Hes quiet. Then, states, "You have a choice."

"Oh? _Oh?_ Let you go wild on stealing food and money from people who work hard for what they have? No one just _has_ stuff, Sans. You've probably bankrupted a man who gardens and sells plants for a living, what, you want me to tell you to go wild and steal a stock of food from a grocery store so the corporate can take it out of some- some worker whos working off student loans' paycheck? Or would you rather they take it out of the single parent whos trying to support a family on a shitty low salary cashier's check?"

You turn to him, making sure you put the can down on the counter _quietly_ despite the impending feeling of building frustration. Hes only an inch shorter than you but in the moment he seems small as looks at you. You take a step away, despite an instinct that tells you to _yell in his face_. your voice stays low despite it, because you're aware that Papyrus is still prattling on to Undyne.

"I know you _hate_ humans, Sans, humans are _terrible_ but not everyone out there is _being_ horrible, Sans. Humans dont just hurt monsters, they hurt _each other_ , and maybe they aren't slaves but the word _powerless_ still has merit. People _exist_ with no one to ask for help and mouthes to feed, that are defenseless. Do you think I'm the only person in this city that gets mugged in a dark alley? They face bullshit, too, Sans. You, stealing, makes you the fucking mugger in this situation. So my choice here, that you want me to make, is let you go fucking mug a twenty off someone who needs the money too in a dark alley- or something entirely fucking similar."

He seems completely taken aback. Maybe because your taking the side of humans, and you've never done that to him. maybe because you called him a mugger, you don't fucking know.

You pop cans of tuna, steaming internally, as you listen to Papyrus talk about how great he'll be at couponing. The only condiment Sans hasn't layed into is Mayo- you're gunna make a fucking Tuna Salad.

"what if I found a place that's not gunna come back and bite some single parent or college student in the ass?"

 _Jesus fucking Christ._

It takes all your personal willpower not to slam the jar of mayo on the counter. You put it down. g.e.n.t.l.y.

And walk toward the back rooms. Sans follows, aware you're trying to leave the presence of Papyrus and Undyne. You step into the little office- a converted, large closet.

Still, your aggressive tone stay just above a whisper. "have you _considered_ for a single moment in your life you can know every detail of a persons life when you start judging them, Sans? For the love of god. You try and call out my sister, a hard working woman, to my _face_ , and now your asking to- to be the judge of character of people you _don't even know_ to pick out victims? Are you this fucking arrogant?" you feel like pulling you fucking hair out.

"Hey- its fucking _survival_. Giving a damn about a shitty asshole's penchant isn't in my To Do list as much as finding the money for food."

"Was it _survival_ when you stole Papyrus a hobby, sans? Did Papyrus _need_ all of the plants? Did you need _slippers_ and _joke glasses_ and all the other petty shit you've stolen as long as ive known you?" you hold up your hands when he goes to retort and spin the other direction, exasperated. "You know- no, I don't _care_ about the shitty 2 bucks you've taken out of someones pockets for shit like that. Just the _hundreds of dollars_ of plants and tools and what not you took from a _single person_ at _one time_."

"he- that _asshole_ fucking deserves it, id know. If theres some assholes I know details about it's the assholes that _owned me_."

"fucking deserving it aside, Sans, that's the kind of shit that gets _reported._ " You turn back to him gesturing at him. why he can't fucking grasp the issues with this you can't _comprehend_. " _hundreds of dollars_ is worse than a 20$ mugging, Sans, when something gets reported like that it gets take _seriously_. You cant just go around stealing shit, especially not in this area, Sans. Police will start looking around, newspapers make a story out of anything. Did you seen the _wanted criminal_ in our living room? Can we _afford_ to have police looking for odd activity in this city right now? Can we _afford_ something shit to happen and you get _caught_ , Sans? What the hell would we do if you got _caught_ , Sans? Fuck- if I had the _money_ for a lawyer it wouldn't even _help_ , the courts wouldn't take your favor even if you _weren't_ guilty as all hell."

"what, like whatever you're doing at night is _legal_? Theres only so many legal things you can do in the dark of night to make money in a city and we both know pawning your shit at the thrift store didn't last long, with no actual shit to _sell_ being as broke as you are. What're you doing, selling drugs? cause that's so much better than _theft_ in a court."

"what I'm doing, what I'm _doing,_ is what I _have_ to. Do you _want_ your brother to have a bed? Do you want there to be food in the fridge?" you laugh bitterly before changing your questions. "hell, do you _want_ to be here, Sans? Since doing what I'm doing makes _no fucking difference in anything,_ do you even want to be here? Do you wanna go somewhere else? do you wanna try taking off with Undyne, take your brother, just fucking _leave?_ Cause if I'm not fucking doing good enough and if my only fucking option just _isn't fucking good enough for you_ , take the fuck off with your royal guard captain so I can finally fucking drop dead."

"fuck it, then, if you're so fucking _desperate_ for us to be gone then why don't you just sell _us_ to the pawn shop, you already _bought_ Papyrus. Money's so _tight_ and all but you bought another _slave_ , just _sell us back,_ and then hell, _drop dead_. Do the world the favor."

For a moment the line does what it most likely intended; it _infuriates_ you and offends you.

But only for a moment.

For the next, against your wishes, the will drains right out of you. Your mind screams for the capacity to _stay_ angry, _be_ offended, _scream_ , insult, something.

But in the next heartbeat even that little spark of fight drains out of you. the _spark_ drains out. Ice water squelches a struggling, dim flame.

You feel cold. Tired. Empty.

You could say you don't feel _anything_ , but you do. You feel _cold._

You turn, pick up the jacket on the back of your cramped little office's chair, and pull it on without a word to him.

"what the fuck are you doing?"

Youd don't look back at him, or say a word. When you've pulled it on, you ignore what he says. You ignore what he says as he follows you down the hallway. You ignore what Papyrus says as you walk through the living room, and what Sans says as you unlock the front door.

You close it behind you, numbly aware you aren't wearing shoes.

You leave.


	3. 61

You don't come home that night.

No, you stay out.

Doing what you have to do.

You do what you have to, until you don't think you could feel your throat even if you _weren't_ so cold everything was numb.

Turns out staying out the whole night for it is more lucrative then just a good 6 hours, anyway.

You don't come home in the morning- no, it's Tuesday. You go to Work.

You show up to the restaurant two hours before it opens, glad you have the keys so you can get in. The place is deserted- you'd been briefed, however, people start showing up an hour till opening for the coffee shop. You came in at opening, or so you would normally.

You relock the front of the coffee shop as you enter, and take the elevator up to the offices, just as deserted. No lights peek from under any of the doors, you wonder if anyone's asleep in the Emergency Room. it didn't look extremely lived in while you were being shown around, but most of the place was pretty well kept.

You slip into your office, still shivering like you were outside. Your feet are freezing, ice water and melted snow right in through the socks. You slowly peel them off, rubbing one at a time.

You spy a vent in the floor, but its not on when you step over on aching feet. No heat. You are, after all, the only one here. There's a thermostat in your room- yours controls the third floor. Something Kal mentioned, briefly, is that you'd be responsible for turning it off when you left in the evening if no one was currently staying in the Emergency room, or reminding anyone staying late to turn it off when they lock up.

You fumble- aware your hands are shivering- with the heater until you figure out how to turn it on. Theres a sticky note with the temperatures your allowed to turn it to in the summer and winter.

70 degrees beats 0 outside, for sure.

You huddle on the ground at the vent- itll take some time for it to kick up, so you wait, huddles at the vent, for warmth to come.

You consider, you may need to bring toothpaste and a brush to keep at work. Or at least mouthwash. In case you decide to make a habit of working all night. Your mouth- your throat- your stomach- it all feels dirty, and it'll be that way all day it seems.

You haven't let yourself wonder about the apartment since you left. Increasingly drowsy, you let yourself think. You wonder if Undyne stayed warm on the couch and if anyone showed her to the shower. You wonder if anyone did anything with the tuna, and if the mayo sat out all night and went bad. You wonder if they'd find breakfast in the fridge. You'd had a can of those cinnamon rolls for you and the skeleton brothers- without you, there'd be more for, hopefully _enough_ for, Undyne. Hopefully enough.

Without you.

You curl up tighter, the first trickles of warmer air slipping up from the vent, trying to get the sparse starts of heat over more of you.

You don't think your welcome back.

You don't think you should go back.

You don't think you want to go back.

If it was probable, you'd just… let them have the apartment. Call it a day. You could pretty much live in your office until you got fired, and… from there… something.

Hm, even then, youd still have to go back for some of your things.

You don't want your things.

You don't want anything.

You don't want to _do_ anything.

Nothing but throw up. You want to throw up.

You want all of it _out_ of you.

The downside against how lucrative it is, working all night _fills_ you in a way you have _never_ missed.

You consider getting a head start on some work, since you're new, you'll probably need it to keep up.

You don't have your laptop, though, what you can do is limited for now. Youstart working up a lie why you didn't bring it for later, when youll need it.

The day drags on.

You get up when you hear the sounds of people on the bottom floor- the sound of something loud in the kitchen turning on. You start working.

Kal comes up to your office about 5 minutes after you would have arrived normally. He starts helping you run through your work with ease, taking your lie at face value. You work with paper work today, instead.

The office is warm by then, and your socks have dried, and sitting mostly at your desk the whole time as he teaches you about the paperwork and shows you things on his own laptop, its never notice you don't have shoes. That's the highlight of your day.

The lowlights include throwing up on your lunch break when you try to take a small bite of a muffin you got in the café, not realizing you wrist was bleeding until blood had soaked through your hoodie and left a mark on the desk kal had almost seen, and an intense painful numbness that coincides with a struggle to stay awake toward the end of the day.

On the Brightside- you now know your first pay day will be the Friday of next week?

You leave when the place is empty- slowly trying to prolong going him. You turn off the heat, off the lights, and lock the doors as you leave to walk home- no money you can spare for a bus, you need it all to buy food to feed the house. Trying to distract your mind with thoughts about what you've learned at work from when you get home.

You stop at Solars, if only to procrastinate going home. Grillby's behind the counter. The last friendly face you feel that you have.

He doesn't see you coming. You slink up to the counter and sit on the stool, socks soaked once again, cold as death. You peel them off and flip them right side out, lay them across your lap, and sink against the counter.

You're spotted as he's handing another man a burger, and almost drops the plate completely. Do you really look so bad?

He quickly gives the man his food and moves over toward you. hes crackling inserious sounding concern. "Sans… has been looking for you…"

You hum. "I'll probably be in a gutter somewhere soon."

"…look cold…"

"I'm always cold." You hum, softly.

He taps the counter. The usual method to ask if you want the usual. You shake your head. "2 burgers, one fish and one regular, and a salad to go. Something cheap and strong for here."

You can tell the way he hesitates that he wants to say you should eat. He's done that before. You shake your head, and his flames fizzle softly in a sigh.

He leaves and returns in a few moments with your drink, and in a couple minutes, a bag of burgers. Papyrus' salad is settled in a container at the side. You've already drowned your drink, but you make no move to get up.

You order another.

A third.

A fourth, and in the process try not to cry while drinking it.

A fifth and a sixth and you feel so cold and the whiskey burns your throat and its already after 9:30 at night and closing in on 10 and solar's will close soon. You order 2 more.

In the fog of drunken blackness you hear a buzzing in your ears your convinced is your own dying pulse as at closing, Apollo says something to you that you cant hear, and tired and lost and confused you vaguely remember being led up stairs to the little apartment where Grillby lives.

In your hazed confusion you forget its not Grillby whos leading you up and that its Apollo, even when you see the haze of flaming monster man pacing in a panic behind the bar, watching you go; the sight of hime tricks you into thinking the bar's on fire, and you say that out loud to the man in the suit whos guiding you up the stairs and he laughs.

"you're so sweet when your drunk, honey."

You grin and giggle, but that ginger man in the suit is not Grillby like your so drunken memory swears confusedly even once your sober, and you shouldn't have let him take you upstairs. He was never warm like fire- he was cold and colder than you.


	4. 62

You know what happened the second you wake up.

No- no you… know the physical act happened. That's what you know happened.

The familiar ache. The _feeling_ in your gut. Your eyes hurt and you know they're probably red. Your naked. The room is unfamiliar. You want to curl in on yourself and shrivel into dirt.

You know what happened.

With who, where, why, when and how long ago, how. None of that you know, yet.

Youjust know the what.

You know what happened.

The where takes a little bit of time.

The room smells familiar. Its warm in here. It smells like cedar. A little like grease. It smells like your friend, and it smells like the only place outside your own apartment that you ever Wanted to be. It smells like Grillby, and it smells like solar's. the rooms dark but for light streaming in a single small window. theres a black blanket over you, a single-person-sized mattress on the ground under you. few belongings, most of which are just changes of clohes in an open nook of a closet. Mostly formal.

You figure out the where slowly- slow only because you've never been in here, and because the What is just echoing in your head, taking up most of the space.

You sit up, blanket slipping down and piling in your lap. Your bare skin is cold. Achingly cold. Theres no bit of warmth in your body, even if the room is warm. You notice a small pile of clothes on the right, settled next to the bed. Those are yours. Folded, and clean. You can recognize that theyre warm, warm like fresh from a dryer. You cant feel that fact.

Slow and numbyouput on your hoodie, skipping bra, skipping shirt. you put on your sweatpants, and socks, and skip everything else. you pick up the stack of what's left, and try to stand. You have to try three times until your legs, trembling, carry you up to your feet unsteadily.

You walk toward the open door leading out of the room.

The owner of the room- no, the man who doesn't own anything but Lives here- is sitting at table. He glows in the dim room. the only source of light is him and another window, a little bigger than the one in the bedroom. His face is rested in his hands.

You can't gleam any sort of expression off him. you ant focus on anything. It may be the hang over, it may be the cold knowing from your body into your mind.

The best you can discern is ' _upset_ ' in his raspy voice when he speaks. "…I couldn't find your… shoes."

Your toes wiggle in your socks subconsciously. "…I didn't have any."

He just… nods. You see from… from a certain way the outlining flame of his jaw and neck shift, sort of like grinding someones teeth, that he tries to say something else. your mostly mute companion, maybe friend, cant manage.

You start to walk toward the stairs. Memory unclear. Unsure what you'll do. Where you'll go. You should be at work by now.

Before you get there, his voice- rasp and raw- says hes sorry.

"was it you?" you cant remember. Just a vague man in a suit. Orange.

He shakes his head no- you aren't looking, but you hear the swish of the flames, and you already know the answer anyway. You cant remember, but you know its not him.

"then don't be sorry."

You start down the stairs.

Solars is locked, so you unlock the door, and step out. Your feet, already cold, feel nothing as you walk through the trodden sidewalk snow. They're like rocks, already cold.

Tears start rushing down your face at some point as you walk, and they don't stop. Not as your ice cold, trembling legs automatically take you to the apartments, not up the elevator, not as you walk toward and unlock your own door.

It creeks open and closes behind you. you don't bother locking it.

Something envelopes your person and your heavy feet leave the ground. After a little while you can actually tune in and hear Papyrus is yealling in delight and relief in your ear.

He still holds you as he runs in from the walkway and into the living room, yelling Sans name.

None of its registering. Not the way Sans stares where he must've stood from the couch. Not the way Undyne's come in from the hallway at all the yelling. Not your boss- BIG boss, Koyol, sitting on the couch.

None of it makes sense to you and you don't take it.

Sans is battering at Papyrus to put you down but as gently as he rests you on your feet, your knees don't hold you and you hit the ground so hard but don't feel.

You mildly note Undyne has vanished again and that's good- Koyol shouldn't see her here, that's bad. That's the only thing you seem to register so far.

Papyrus picking up your clothes from beside you is the next thing register, alongside a little exclamation about something in regards to an apology for seeing your underwear.

The tears still stream your face and have never stopped and you register your boss looks completely expressionless and hasn't moved since you came in.

The next thing that clocks is Sans. He's sitting in front of you and he's asking, slowly, overly enunciated, where you've been. What happened. Where did you go when you left, where have you been, what happened?

Your barely functioning at a mental level, so without thinking, you start to tell him obediently.

You worked all night, blowing strangers through a hole in the wall. You went to work. You were going home and stopped to get dinner. You drank until you woke up upstairs from solars and you don't remember who took you up to bed.

Barely functioning anymore, you ask your father sitting in front of you if he'll let you go to sleep now? Your stomach hurts too much to do anymore tonight, please.

You fall asleep before getting answered, and hope he won't be mad in the morning.


End file.
